


Size Isn't Everything (Except When It Is)

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Felching, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Size Kink, Snowballing, Spanking, barely-there-breathplay, pwp like whoa, really ridiculous stamina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine is bored and likes a challenge. Percival is definitely a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Size Isn't Everything (Except When It Is)

Gwaine has been a knight of Camelot for all of a month before boredom sets in. Training is everything he dreaded, and while the other knights are a fine bunch of fellows, Gwaine still isn't sure how he feels about trading in his freedom for a fancy cloak. Boredom soon starts twisting itself into resentment and before he can go too far down that road Gwaine decides he had better look for some kind of distraction. 

He can't drink like he used to these days, and he can't stumble into a fight and use it as a handy excuse to move onto the next town. There's something else that has always worked though, beyond the thrill of a fight, and beyond the risk of gambling, or the soft-edged oblivion of the bottle. So Gwaine starts looking around Camelot with a more purposeful eye. He's a flirt by nature, but in an offhanded way, never thinking much beyond the clever lines that will make someone blush or laugh. 

Despite what everyone seems to think, Gwaine is not permanently on the lookout for someone to warm his bed. Admittedly, he isn't usually that fussy, and he doesn't turn down many of the opportunities that come his way. When he goes looking for it though, it's different.

Gwaine has always liked them big when it comes to men. So far as he can see, there's no point in anything if it doesn't stay with you for a while. He's always liked women who look like they might bite and scratch, men who look like they could fold him in half without breaking a sweat. Percival is the very definition of that latter category, and Gwaine is sure a tumble with _Sir Percival_ would be on his mind – so to speak – for days.

It'll provide a bit of a challenge, he thinks, because from the little he's gleaned, Percival was just a farm boy when Cenred's army swept through his village. And now, in Camelot, he seems closest to Lancelot, whose excess of virtue would make Gwaine uncomfortable if he wasn't such a thoroughly nice bloke along with it.

Still, it would hardly be the first time Gwaine had set his heart on broadening some innocent's horizons, and he thinks a drawn-out chase is just what he needs right now. He needs a good fucking from that monster Percival keeps in his breeches, yes, but he also needs something to take his mind off the routine that has become his life.

He starts small. Brings Percival bread and watered wine when he's on sentry duty. Sneakily arranges the patrol columns so he can ride at Percival's side. Coaxes him to the tavern after a busy day. As ever, his libido is his worst bloody enemy. He finds himself drifting off into fantasies of Percival bending him over the fence that rings the training field and taking him right there in front of god and everyone, when he should be spotting the right time to pay a compliment, or make a comment open to all kinds of interpretations.

He thinks the message is getting through though, catches a few long, assessing stares coming his way. And he finds that Percival is a lot more than a quiet farm boy with the body of a god. He's funny and dedicated, and has a mischievous streak Gwaine quickly comes to appreciate. He's not just built like something out of Gwaine's wettest dream, he's willing to run raids on the kitchen with Gwaine, to steal a wineskin and head for the battlements, sing drunken battle-songs to the moon.

Things come to a head when they find an arm-wrestling contest in one of the grimier taverns in the lower town. Gwaine grins hugely and shoves Percival towards the table. He protests all the way, and sure enough most of the contestants drift off at the sight of Percival. A few are drunk or stupid enough to take him on though, and Gwaine nurses a tankard of ale and tries to pretend he isn't staring at the smooth ripple of muscles in Percival's arm as he beats one man after another.

There's an instant where their eyes catch and all the noise of the tavern seems to fade and leave Gwaine and Percival alone, their eyes locked over the utterly insignificant head of the man Percival is in the midst of defeating. Someone in the crowd jostles Gwaine and reality comes rushing back. Mostly.

Percival doesn't take his eyes off Gwaine in the time it takes him to gently fold his opponent's arm down to the table top. Gwaine's head spins a little, and that's certainly not because of the watered down ale. As ever with these things, it's become a matter of honour with the few men foolish enough to take Percival on, and there are cries of protest when he says he's done for the night. He manages to extricate himself from their company with grace and walks – although some part of Gwaine insists it's more prowling than walking – over to Gwaine and pulls the tankard from his hand, finishing the ale in one long swallow. 

He looks almost amused as he accepts two more drinks from the barman and nods Gwaine towards a table. Gwaine feels a bit wrong footed when they sit down and Percival leans forward to look at him.

"I wondered what you were up to." _Definitely amused_. 

Gwaine curses himself. He's clearly been way too obvious. Percival knows exactly what Gwaine's here for, and that gives him all the leverage. Sure enough, in a move Gwaine would never have predicted, Percival leans further back on the bench, spreading his legs and drawing Gwaine's eye inexorably down towards his crotch.

"You could have just asked," Percival tells him and Gwaine has to laugh. 

"Sir Percival," he begins grandly, "Brave, kind, loyal, _strong_ Sir Percival..."

Percival's lips twitch into a smile. "Yes, Gwaine?"

"...fancy a ride?"

Percival laughs at that, loud and bright, aiming a kick at Gwaine's ankle. He nods towards the tankard Gwaine's hanging onto and says, "Finish that, then."

_Hmm. Bossy._ Gwaine can work with bossy.

They drink up and leave, the cool night air all the more noticeable for the heat between them as they turn their feet towards the castle. Before long there are footsteps coming their way that could – conceivably, _theoretically_ – belong to a patrol. 

"Hey," Gwaine breathes, and jerks his head towards an alleyway. Once again, Gwaine has that unsettling out-of-his-depth feeling because Percival looks nothing so much as amused as he follows Gwaine into the shadows and crowds him against the wall.

And this, this is exactly what Gwaine's always loved about being with someone so much bigger than himself. Percival's bulk makes it feel like he's right there, all over Gwaine before they've even touched. Gwaine likes turning his head up to look at Percival, and he likes the way Percival has his hands pressed to the wall behind Gwaine, the pleasant fantasy of being trapped there.

"Don't want to get waylaid by some well-meaning brother in arms when we've plans," Gwaine explains in a whisper.

"Plans, have we?"

"I should hope so."

The footsteps are long gone, but Percival doesn't move away. If anything, he seems to drift closer and Gwaine's excitement twists inside him. 

"One condition," Percival says, and god, Gwaine is gagging for it, would agree to pretty much anything at this point.

"Which is?"

"We do this my way."

Gwaine wets his lips and asks, "How's that, then?"

Percival grins at him in the shadows. "Well in a bed, for starters."

There goes Gwaine's half-formed fantasy of hard and fast up against the wall, but all right, he can live with that. They have rooms near each other, but Gwaine has never been inside Percival's before. He's surprised at how neat and plain it is for a moment before Percival reels him in and kisses him. Something clicks into place inside him at the easy way Percival turns him around, at the strong clench of the man's hands on his hips. He knew this was a good idea. 

For a moment it seems like hard and fast might still be on the menu, when Percival tears at Gwaine's shirt, pulling the neck askew and dragging his lips down the side of Gwaine's throat, savouring the flavour of his skin. Gwaine cups the back of Percival's head in his hand, wishing the other man's hair was long enough to get a decent grip on. 

"Get on the bed," Percival tells him, pushing Gwaine back slightly and fumbling with the lacing on his breeches. Gwaine hastens to obey, scrambling out of the rest of his clothes. He's already half hard and he gets to his hands and knees on the bed, his whole body taut with anticipation. He hears the rustle of material, feels the bed dip under Percival's added weight.

"Come on, come on," Gwaine says, his voice gone tight and small already, but Percival pulls at his ankles, spreading him flat before turning him onto his back. Gwaine groans, wondering how much more explicit he could have possibly made his invitation. Still, he can't deny the thrill at Percival manhandling him this way, a thrill that only intensifies when Percival spreads Gwaine's thighs apart and stares up at him. Gwaine waits for what feels like an age before he demands again, "Come _on_!"

Percival grins like that's exactly what he's been waiting for. He hunches his back awkwardly and sucks Gwaine into his mouth. There's none of the hesitance Gwaine might have expected, just a kind of urgent relish that has his toes curling. He pushes himself up on his elbows with effort; he just wants to _see_. But Percival – who is turning out to have a _much_ broader wicked streak than Gwaine had realised – pushes him back easily. With Percival's hand on his chest, pinning him with embarrassing ease, Gwaine can do nothing but _feel_. 

It's been a while since he's had this, and Percival is shameless and obvious in his own enjoyment in a way that never fails to set Gwaine's blood roaring. Enthusiasm with the skill to match it is a rare enough thing in Gwaine's experience and he gives up on trying to get a look. He loves the sensation of being pinned down and assaulted with pleasure, wave after wave of it. Unpredictability is a great thing too, and just when Gwaine thinks he's used to the sleek sheath of Percival's mouth bobbing up and down his length, he shifts to lap and suck and slurp at his balls.

"Ah, fuck, that is _good_ ," Gwaine grits out. And it is. Bloody marvellous, in fact. His thoughts might have been running more along the lines of getting bent over and fucked so hard he couldn't see straight, but this is fucking amazing.

Then Percival gets his fingers into the mix as well, wetting Gwaine's bollocks thoroughly before rolling them between his fingertips. It feels for all the world like he's just playing around until one of those wet fingers pushes at his entrance, bluntly insistent. He gets one inside and feels around, stretches and circles Gwaine's rim, his breath hot over Gwaine's cock. He comes back with two fingers this time, and it takes all Gwaine has not to fucking _scream_ , it feels so good. The last thing he wants to do right now is rouse the guards. 

This is going to be over far too quickly, but Percival just ignores the rising desperation in Gwaine's tone, along with his garbled warning and goes back to his cock, thumb tracing the thickest vein while he mouths and suckles at the head, his thick fingers fucking Gwaine in an insistent rhythm. The soft – deliberate, the bastard – scrape of his teeth, such a delicate threat, is what sends Gwaine over the edge. It's blinding, pleasure prickling all over him, radiating out from Percival's mouth and hands.

Those blunt fingers pull out the second before he comes, and Gwaine whines, feeling cheated even as he spills himself in a series of long, toe-curling spurts. His body clamps down on nothing, and he'd complain except Percival is already crawling up the length of his body to hover above him, his lips pressed into a tight pucker. He sets his thumb on Gwaine's chin and gently pulls his mouth open. It's not often that Gwaine finds himself surprised by a bed-partner, but he thinks this might be one of those rare nights.

Percival fits his mouth over Gwaine's and the kiss is instantly filthy, Gwaine drinking mingled spit and spunk from Percival's mouth. The grip on his jaw doesn't let up and Percival's tongue works with purpose, dipping into Gwaine's mouth and pulling back, a fresh burst of the taste on each turn.

"I wanted you to fuck me, you know," Gwaine complains once he's got his breath back.

Percival just laughs and rubs his thumb over Gwaine's wet lips. "What, you thought that was game over? And here I thought you were the one with all the imagination. I'm not even close to done with you."

There's not much Gwaine can say to that so he just kisses Percival again, their mouths sliding before they catch, before Percival steals his breath all over again. He takes hold of Gwaine's hand and pulls it down between his legs, wrapping Gwaine's fingers around the straining length of his dick. Gwaine bites down on a whine and cranes his neck to look down between their bodies at the fat cockhead emerging from his fist.

" _God_." Gwaine squeezes tighter and feels Percival fuck through the circle of his fingers. "Seriously. Get the fuck _in_ me, already," he says.

Percival bites at his jaw, traces a path down to his throat. "Shameless," he tells Gwaine.

Gwaine just spreads his legs wider, squeezes his thighs around Percival's hips and informs Percival, "Shame is very unhealthy."

Percival laughs, easily freeing himself from Gwaine's clutches. Gwaine utters a noise of protest and Percival _laughs_ at him. Unfair, Gwaine thinks. Not least because Gwaine doubts he himself even remembers _how_ to laugh right now, and Percival has _no business_ being so bloody relaxed. Except he comes back holding a pot of some sort of thick salve and Gwaine decides all is forgiven. By the time Percival's got the top off the pot, Gwaine already has his legs pulled up to his chest. Percival settles between his thighs and wastes no time getting two fingers back into Gwaine.

Gwaine's still languid from his orgasm, but there's no denying that Percival's skilled. He varies the depth and the speed and the angle of his thrusts until Gwaine's pulling at his own thighs with sweaty fingers, desperate to spread himself wider for Percival. Before long, the thick salve Percival worked into him has gone slick and there's gloriously filthy wet noises every time he fucks his fingers into Gwaine's arse. 

"Any time you like," Gwaine prompts, trying to claw back a little control. He's hard again and getting impatient.

"A man like me gets used to taking it slow," Percival says, and it sounds – not _bragging_ exactly, but very, very certain.

"A man like me's not a fan of that," Gwaine tells him a bit sharply.

"Not yet," Percival tells him. "Don't be so impatient."

"Don't be such a tease, then," Gwaine shoots back.

Percival's not exactly helping with the _patience_ thing when he starts working a third finger into Gwaine, and Christ, even his fingers are huge. Three of them all pressed together inside him feels incredible, the bumps of his knuckles shockingly good. Percival moves closer somehow, hauling Gwaine up so his arse is cradled on Percival's thighs and Percival can lean his weight into Gwaine as he fingers him, so _fucking_ strong it's a bit ridiculous.

"Come _on_ ," Gwaine says, and he fists one hand in the sheets, reaches the other down to touch where Percival is in him. "Fuck me, you – "

"Not yet, I said," Percival reminds him sharply. But Gwaine's desperate for it by now and he keeps working against Percival's grip, eager to get him inside. Without seeming to really think about it, Percival delivers a ringing slap to the upturned curve of Gwaine's arse. Gwaine tries to hide his face in his arm, because he couldn't possibly hold back a cry at that; there was no way Percival doesn't know how it affected him. 

His head spins and for a moment he thinks it's just lust until he realises, no, he really _is_ face down across Percival's lap, his bare, well-fingered arse in the air, at the perfect angle to catch the full force of the slaps Percival aims there, one-two-three in quick succession. There's a frozen moment of silence but Gwaine gives first, a throaty moan spilling from his lips that makes Percival suddenly go very still.

"Oh, you _would_ , Gwaine," he says, his voice soft and teasing. "Do you want me to do it again?"

Gwaine grits his teeth, wriggling against Percival's thighs, rutting shamelessly. " _Yes._ Yes, I want – "

One of Percival's hands comes down on the back of his neck, holding him fast. The blows on his arse fall irregularly, hard enough to sting every time. Each one knocks him harder against Percival's thighs and he can't decide whether to grind forward against the pressure, or lift his arse higher for the next slap. He ends up rocking back and forth, gasping, his breath rattling in his chest, edged with moans. His arse stings, feels nicely warmed, and Percival just – he is like some unstoppable force, only the slick of sweat on his palms and the occasional shudder in his breath revealing any kind of uncertainty.

Gwaine isn't sure which of them is more surprised when he comes again, spilling over Percival's thighs, slicking the desperate hunching of his hips. Percival lands a few more smacks on his arse and then palms one cheek. The heat seems to flare and Gwaine lets out a long, shivering _aa-aa-ah_.

Percival breathes hard for a second and just squeezes, his thumb tracing the oiled cleft of Gwaine's arse. Gwaine is dazed and still half out of his mind when Percival guides him out of his lap and onto the floor between his feet. 

"Suck me for a while," he says, and Gwaine thinks that sounds like the best idea Percival's _ever_ had. 

His legs feel trembly as he gets to his knees and _fuck_. It's the first real proper look he's had at Percival's cock and – god, Gwaine has to force himself to take in all the details instead of doing what he wants, which is to get it the fuck into him, one way or another. It's long and thick, wet already and dark with blood in a way that makes Gwaine's mouth water, makes his arsehole clench up in anticipation. He traces the slight curve of it with his fingertips, pulls it towards himself and lets go so it slaps back wetly against Percival's stomach. He mouths at the head, flavour bursting on his tongue as he spans the length with his hands. The motion wrings another slick dribble of precome from the slit and he lets it dribble down a moment before he laps it up.

Percival touches his hair and asks, "Now who's the tease?"

Gwaine flushes because teasing? No. Awe, maybe, but there's no need to let that slip. He goes to work instead, opens slowly to let Percival in, pressing his tongue hard against the head before taking it inside, making it so Percival has to push and then opening his mouth in a rush. Gwaine is no stranger to doing this, but Percival's sheer size renders all his experience worthless. He fills Gwaine's mouth so easily and instantly that Gwaine hardly dares to move. 

It's a little overwhelming, knowing that whatever he does, there's probably no way he can take it all. Percival swears and pulls Gwaine in a little further.

"God – this is the best way to shut you up yet," he says, and Gwaine would laugh, but – well. Otherwise occupied. Something escapes though, some muffled tremor of noise and Percival groans, pulls his cock from Gwaine's mouth with a pop. Gwaine feels a string of saliva stretch between them before it snaps back wetly against his chin.

Percival strokes himself, and it seems to take an age for his hand to travel the length of it. If he tries, Gwaine can almost already feel the heat of it spearing into him, the ache that will burn in his thighs.

"How much can you take?" he asks.

Gwaine does laugh then; he's always loved a challenge. "Let's find out," he says.

Percival laughs and knocks his leg into Gwaine's shoulder. He snatches up a fistful of Gwaine's hair and guides him to exactly where he wants to be, mouth hovering open above Percival's dick. He waits for Percival to pull him down, and then lets him carry on, lets him sheathe his cock in Gwaine's mouth, lets him notch his hips up that little bit higher. It's not long before he chokes, an uncontrollably anxious part of him pulling back. Relief floods him when Percival isn't put off, doesn't hesitate, just lets him snatch a breath and then fucks his way in again.

It's not long at all before Gwaine's mouth is slick with drool, lips numb and jaw aching. His fingers are wet where he's stroking what he can't fit into his mouth. Filthy sounds fill the whole room and Gwaine gets off on that almost as much as he does on the way Percival is filling his mouth, nudging into his throat, fucking _owning_ him. Percival's free hand is on his face, touching his lips, rubbing over the stretch of his jaw.

Gwaine rears back again to suck in a breath and Percival pulls him up, leans forward to meet him in a kiss that smears wetness all over their chins. Percival's tongue fucks lewdly into Gwaine's mouth like he means to retrace the path of his cock. Gwaine braces himself on Percival's thick thighs and gives as good as he's getting. He feels utterly out of his head, floating. He's hard all over again in an achy, tender kind of way.

When the kiss ends, Gwaine tries to get his mouth back on Percival's cock, and he makes and embarrassingly bereft noise when Percival doesn't let him.

"No, come on, get up here," Percival says. "I have to fuck you."

And well, Gwaine wouldn't be Gwaine if he didn't reply, "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

The words come out ragged and breathy though, and Gwaine feels like a bloody ragdoll as he lets Percival help him up onto the bed and spread him out on his back. Eager to get at least a little more involved, Gwaine hooks an arm under his thigh and spreads himself wide, his other hand reaching down to test the give of his arsehole. Percival swears under his breath and for a moment there's something really boyish and sweet about his expression. Then he coats his hand with more salve and slicks his cock, and his face crumples with want instead, and Gwaine thinks a nice, rough shag might be back on the agenda after all.

But no. Percival is a sorcerer, a torturer, a bloody _miracle_. Because he pushes in slowly, gives Gwaine a scant inch of his cock before withdrawing with a slick pop. Gwaine lets out a wordless cry of frustration and digs his head back into the pillows. Percival does it a few more times, so when he finally sinks in deep, Gwaine's shocked by it. His breath is knocked out of his lungs by the burning stretch and for a moment he just gapes up at the ceiling. The sting barely softens his erection at all, and just as Gwaine is starting to think he might make it through this with some scrap of dignity intact, he realises Percival is still pushing inward. That burn, that wide, wide pressure is not even the whole thing.

Gwaine wants it though, wants it with a greedy urgency that surprises even himself. He wriggles his hips up as much as he can, but Percival has him practically folded in half. Gwaine's legs are draped over Percival's broad shoulders and it's _perfect_ ; everything about the man is huge and imposing and Gwaine just wants more.

Percival finally bottoms out with a long groan. His eyes are fixed on the point where he's spearing into Gwaine's body, and Gwaine can hardly believe he has taken the whole length. Percival moves him as he sees fit, pushing Gwaine's leg out to the side and catching hold of his hip to tilt him to a better angle. Gwaine has rarely felt more turned on, rarely felt less in control. Percival's hand moves between them and Gwaine's cock strains in anticipation. Percival passes it by though, fingers dragging over the twitching muscles in Gwaine's stomach and chest.

When that large hand falls on the base of his throat Gwaine feels a shiver of fear and excitement run through his whole body. There's no pressure though, save for when Gwaine tries to move against the damnably slow thrusts Percival's giving him. Gwaine lets his head drop onto the pillow with a frustrated sound that's far too close to a sob for his liking. Percival's thumb drags over the side of his neck and he shushes Gwaine.

"My way, remember?"

Gwaine grits his teeth. He's not unfamiliar with that spot inside that Percival's grinding against, but he's sure it's never felt like this before, sure it's never received such a gentle, persistent battering as this. Percival's constant slow thrusts have Gwaine begging, but Percival just carries on as he pleases, like a force of bloody nature. Gwaine's cock and balls feel tight and on the verge of sore. He can't believe he needs to come _again_. He's not been on a hair trigger like this since he was a kid. It's Percival's size, there's no fucking getting around that. Because that sweet spot inside is one thing, but it's the stretch that does for him, nudging up against too much, making him shake right down to his bones. He catches hold of Percival's forearm, feeling the muscles tense under his touch. 

"Come on," he pleads, desperate for Percival to lose it, to be even a tenth as affected as Gwaine is.

"Gotta take it slow," Percival tells him.

Gwaine blinks, thinking that that makes no sense. "Why?"

"Because I want to," Percival says with a shaky laugh and another slow thrust. "Because you're gorgeous like this. Because I _can_."

Gwaine can't think what to say to that. In fact, he can barely think at all. He's had marathon sessions in the past, spent whole days in bed with another person (or people), but that has always been lazy, time spent drowsing in between enthusiastic bouts of shagging, but _this_. He'd thought of Percival as a force of nature before and he keeps coming back to that. He's like a flood or a rockslide in slow motion. Unstoppable. Having given up on movement for the time being, Gwaine tries another tack and locks down every muscle in his body, squeezing hard around Percival. It backfires in the most pleasurable way, sending ripples through his body that have him clenching his jaw and flinging his head back. 

Percival's not unaffected though, taking a hissing breath in through his teeth and gritting out, "Ah, _god_ , that is tight – Be easier if someone else fucked you first," he adds out of nowhere, and Gwaine is instantly shaken apart by the idea, the thought of coming to Percival when he's already fucked out and dripping wet. Just like with the first slap he'd delivered to Gwaine's arse earlier, it seems to take Percival less than a heartbeat to work out how his words have affected Gwaine. 

He laughs and a drop of sweat falls from his cheek onto Gwaine's thigh. "Elyan would do it," he says. "Leon too, probably. We could – "

Gwaine doesn't hear what they could do because he's got just enough range of movement to slam his body up against Percival's next thrust. Percival's eyes roll back in his head and it's Gwaine's turn to laugh, breathless and delighted until Percival pulls out of him, leaving him feeling horribly empty.

"No, no, no, no – " Gwaine pleads, reaching for Percival.

"Shh. Shut up, turn over."

And Gwaine is on board with that, he is an _enthusiastic supporter_ of that plan, but he can't get his limbs to cooperate. His legs, when Percival releases them, crash to the bed like lumps of wood and Percival makes an impatient noise, hurriedly flipping Gwaine over and pulling him up onto his hands and knees. Gwaine screws his hands into the sheets and waits, breathless, for Percival to resume. He feels fingers instead of cock though, pressing gently against his hole, slipping inside with no resistance. He lets his head drop and locks his elbows, fearing that his arms will give way. 

"Yes," Percival says in a low growl. "God, we should – tie you down just like this, and – "

He's still thinking about the others taking their turns with Gwaine then, and really, Gwaine has no objections there although he doesn't know why Percival imagines he'd need tying down. It's not like he has any plans to move tonight. Maybe not tomorrow either. Percival leaves off fingering him after a few minutes and catches hold of Gwaine's hips instead. When Percival re-enters him, Gwaine realises he's slicked himself again, both from the frictionless slide and the slick sound.

Gwaine barks out a rough noise and Percival finally, _finally_ starts fucking him faster. A low moan tears itself out of his throat and he feels raw, burning up as Percival slams in again and again, fast, shallow thrusts. Gwaine sinks to his elbows and tries to squirm a hand down towards his cock. He feels Percival's teeth against his shoulder blade, feels the rumble of his disapproving murmur, and wants to fucking _cry_ when Percival's fingers circle tight around the base of his cock. It locks the pleasure back into his body and he feels hot all over, frustrated.

"Please – _please_."

He knows other words, he's sure of it, but he can't think of any at the moment and he lets himself fall forward into the bed, rubbing the side of his face against the pillows, feeling hopelessly over-stimulated.

"No," Percival says. "You come again now and you won't have anything left to give me when I'm fucking you properly."

_Properly_ , Gwaine thinks a bit hysterically, and a laugh bubbles out of his chest. Percival is _unreal_.

"You're joking. You're all talk. Show me _properly_ , then," he says in a rush.

Percival laughs and slowly lets go of Gwaine's cock. He takes hold of his hips instead, pulling them up a little higher and – oh. Oh, fuck, he was not joking about _properly_. Because _this_ is properly, _this_ is what Percival has been holding back in favour of. Each thrust goes deep now, feels like the whole length of Percival's cock re-entering him each time, from the flared head to the thick shaft. Gwaine's breath keeps catching in his throat and he can hear himself making these broken little noises, low whines that he can't bite back.

Percival keeps one hand on Gwaine's hip but he has the other spread open on the small of his back. It feels huge and hot, strong where Percival's fingertips dig in just a little. His thrusts speed up, fast enough to blur together, fast enough that Gwaine can feel the meaty slap of their bollocks. Gwaine can't _believe_ – every thrust feels golden, feels perfect, makes his toes curl and his heart pound wildly, scarily in his chest.

Even if he thought Percival would let him, Gwaine doubts he could muster the coordination to get a hand on his own dick right now, and he feels absurdly grateful when Percival does it for him. Percival's big, capable hand closes around his cock and that's _it_ for Gwaine. He spends himself again in an instant. He is distantly – but only very distantly – aware of Percival continuing for a few more thrusts, rendered arrhythmic by the spastic clenching of Gwaine's body around him. When Percival finally stills, Gwaine can hear him breathing like a bellows, while the air feels thready and weak through his own lungs. Every inch of him aches like he's been – _ha_ – riding for hours, or fighting under a hot sun. Percival's fingers loosen on his hip, the grip turning soft, stroking, as he pulls out.

Gwaine fairly _collapses_ onto the bed, moaning into the pillow, feeling utterly overcome. But Percival, the bloody _animal_ , is still touching him, skimming his hands over Gwaine's heaving ribs and telling him, "Let me see. C'mon, open your legs, let me see what I've done to you."

_Oh, nothing much_ , Gwaine thinks. _Just ruined me for other men. No big deal_.

He spreads his legs obediently anyway, feels the bed shift under them as Percival moves down. His fingers press against the rim of Gwaine's hole and Gwaine hisses sharply at the almost-sting. Percival squeezes his thigh, dips his fingers just barely inside. They come out wet, oily, and Percival rubs them against Gwaine's cheek. Gwaine pushes his face into the pillows. Is there no end to the man's stamina?

"Gwaine?" Percival asks, and his breath is _right there_ , goddamnit.

Gwaine just waves a hand in a _carry on, you fucking secret sex god, and incidentally it's just not the done thing to keep skills like that hidden under all that polite bloody niceness._ He assumes at least some of the message gets across because Percival pushes his finger in again, just one this time, but all the way. Gwaine feels tender and well-used but he doesn't have it in him to complain. What's that they say about gift horses again? Gwaine can't remember, but he's pretty sure saying no to Percival would be up there with the stupidest things he's ever done in a lifetime of stupid things.

He shifts against the bed, a lazy ripple of his spine, and Percival hums in appreciation. There's no way, just no fucking _way_ Gwaine's going to get hard again. He sort of wishes someone would tell that to his cock, which is putting in a valiant effort. Percival's undeterred, large hands easily spreading Gwaine open, the tips of his thumbs digging into his hole, tongue tracing a path between them. Gwaine has lost all ability to speak, but he can't keep quiet either, high whines worming their way out of his chest with each lick.

Percival, damn him, spots the pattern and alternates long slow licks with sharp little jabs, playing Gwaine like he's a bloody lute. By the time he's done, Gwaine's noising into the pillow, bloody _exhausted_. He feels very clean in one manner of speaking, and pleasingly dirty in another. The thought pushes a huff of laughter out of him and he feels Percival pat his thigh, hands gone clumsy as he yawns hugely against the small of Gwaine's back.

"Sun'll be up in a few hours," he says. 

_Bastard._

"No training tomorrow," Gwaine decides. "Tell them I died."

Percival snorts against his spine, and apparently he's going to stay there all night. "Death by cock," he mumbles.

Gwaine sniggers and stretches out the ache in his arms. "Worse ways to go," he decides.


End file.
